Sherlock Holmes: The Game Of Giants
by Hallucinia
Summary: When the Great Prophecy was made,it predicted that the greatest of the great will rise in defense of the Gods...loyalty,duty,genius.With 9 half-bloods instead of 7,including the world's first and greatest detective,it's the giants that need to be worried.


This story is what would have happened if Sherlock Holmes were in Camp Half-Blood. Prepare for epic.

Gods, I've always wanted to say that.

Please be nice, and don't flame. This is my first fanfiction ever.

If you see something I have gotten wrong, or maybe written a character too unrealistically, please point out, as well as any grammar mistakes. Also, if you have any suggestions on HOW I can strengthen my story, it will be most welcome. Be warned though—as much as I try, I can't seem to get that humorous tone of Rick Riordan's. Bummer.

Thank you for your cooperation.

PS: How do I reply to comments or edit my stories?

Also—I own no rights.

BTW: I've only been to the States once, so if you see any errors regarding America please help me correct them.

PPS: This takes place at the SAME TIME AS THE LOST HERO. This is not a spite fiction, but Sherlock Holmes will piss everyone off—including the main characters of The Lost Hero. Also, the Great Prophecy is different. Instead of 7 half bloods, it's 9, and instead of storm, it's fury. I have no idea what's the difference though, as I'm making this up as I go along. And as to the 2 additional half-bloods, you get 6 guesses, and the first 4 don't count. (To say the truth though, I do think 9 would be the most sensible number, as the entire series states that 3 is a good number, and what can be better than three sets of three?)

AND SO, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, PREPARE FOR

**Sherlock Holmes: The Game Of The Giants**

The sound of urgent panting echoed down the dark alley. The young youth hunched over, exhausted, his weeklong flight having taken a toll on his body. He looked back over his shoulder, dreading the horrible visage he knew would appear over the bend of the alley. As he predicted, a shadow loomed over the pathway and an abominable face appeared—no, to say it was a face was a misnomer, as the thing, like its lesser brethren, simply had no head. Its features were superimposed over its chest, with large, unblinking eyes on its shoulders and its terrible, drooling mouth, with its many rows of teeth gnashing like an industrial chainsaw within its belly. Its strong, supple arms ended in razor sharp talons, and its thick, powerful legs seemed to scuttle across the floor with its many edged razor sharp nails. The pack leader, 3 meters tall, stalked bestially into the alleyway, a pack of its smaller brothers/sisters trailing him. Its ghastly mouth seemed to smile as it grounded out in horrible, mangled English: "Little demigod, are we tired? Ha!" it drooled. "You've avoided us for a long time, and even murdered one of us, but no one escapes us in the end." It hissed, remembering the memory of its fallen kin. "Yessss, you will pay!" it roared as it sprung. Almost as if in slow motion, the youth turned his head around and looked at the monster that even now was hurtling towards him. How had it led to this? His mind wandered back a few days ago.

He had first woken up, with no recollection of his past, by himself in a city called New York with nothing but his clothes, a sack of miscellaneous items, and a pair of twin hooks. The first day was fine. He had discovered that his rucksack contained money and lived well, taking time to attempt to deduce the mystery of his amnesia and examine the myriad contents of his rucksack. The next day did not pass as well. When he went outside for a walk, he felt a sense of being watched. While he was in the hardware store, he became aware of a group of people stalking him. As he began to pick up speed, he discovered to his horror his pursuers were not mortal, but terrible headless monsters that somehow were invisible to everyone else. They pursued him relentlessly everywhere, despite all his attempts to shake them off, even after he had once accidently killed one of them. Even when he had managed to get out of their sight, they had always managed to track him down, and so began their merry dance, until he had finally been cornered in the alley on Long Island with no route of escape.

The sound of clicking talons brought him back to the present rather unpleasantly. As the monster leapt, the youth tensed himself. He had taken a risk, acting scared, getting himself trapped in the dark alley, as he knew this would make the creature most confident in itself—and that was when it was most vulnerable, as it would not suspect a thing. He truly was terrified, yes, as anyone would be at such grotesque, yet fascinating creatures but was exhilarated as well, as it was during the most critical parts of a game like this, when his betted his own life, that truly made him feel alive. He mentally counted the seconds that it would take the beast to spring his trap, while absently marveling at how fast his thoughts were during a high risk situation…"About…now!" he thought, as the Alpha Leader hit the almost invisible string he had prepared for this. As the Alpha Leader plowed through it, the line tensed, then pulled on the hook that the youth had attached to it, the end of the string whipping the hook through the air. The steel hook caught onto and dug deep into the creature's eye, eliciting a scream of pain and surprise, but the creature's speed and weight were now killing itself, in a vicious irony as its momentum pulled on the line further, dragging the already deeply imbedded hook through its eye, down into its chest, where it sliced through ribs with a bone-chilling cracking sound. The monster disintegrated, as the youth had dispassionately observed was a special characteristic of its unique species, sending the hook sword skittering near his feet, where he neatly picked it up with an elegant flourish. The recently deceased monster's pack buddies froze, unsure what to do. The youth smiled coldly. It was a perfect moment to strike. Then, everything went wrong.

Like a meteorite, a wiry, but strong looking teen landed on one of the monsters, repeatedly stabbing it with his knife. A goat-man thing followed him soon after, clubbing one of them in the head. It would have been fine, had not the youth thrown his shock weapons against the monsters—a white ball, and a red ball. The white ball hit the teen on the head, and detonated, releasing incredible light, blinding everyone, except the youth, who knowing what was about to happen, looked away to preserve his vision. The second ball impacted on one of the smaller monsters of the pack, releasing a cloud of intense spice. The monsters, as the youth correctly hypothesized, were nocturnal animals, their eyes large to take in as much light as possible. This much light, delivered suddenly, could actually knock one unconscious due to overload, and perhaps even kill. But it was their most important sense that was being most brutally assaulted—smell, which the youth had accurately deduced was their strongest sense from the fact that virtually every other night animal primarily relied on smell. The cloud of intense spice burned their nose, eyes, lungs, and skin, activating their primordial instinct of fight or flight. Blinded, in pain, with their most valuable sense, smell, taken away, they lashed out mindlessly, following their predator instinct. But it was here the original plan went wrong. The youth had at first planned for the monsters to take each other out, but instead heard a scream, and a gurgle as a talon dug itself deep into the teen's back. The youth felt sympathy, but no pity, and a slight bit of annoyance at the teen for interfering with his otherwise perfectly laid plan, though was still touched by the teen' bravery and desire to "rescue" him from being devoured. The goat man faired better. In pain and blinded, it started running around in circles, hitting everything he could reach with his club, until a lucky backhand blow from the monsters knocked him unconscious to the ground. With the two unconscious bodies unmoving safely on the ground, the rest of the monsters could not detect them and turned on each other in their fear and confusion, with the remaining dispatched by the youth with a savagely elegant use of his twin hooks.

After the last monster disintegrated, the youth sprinted as fast as he could to the teen's side, knowing every second counted. Stripping his shirt, he observed the terrible wound. From it, blood was spurting out in an incredible rate. This was mortal. This could not be stopped, unless he had the tools and medical know-how with him NOW, and that was something he did not have. For the first time throughout the entire battle, the youth's face now had an expression of panic, so intense that he almost missed the sound of a chariot(!) landing. He mentally cursed and berated himself for letting his guard down. The youth composed himself, stepped away from the body, and turned to face the person that was jumping off the chariot, just as the stranger cried "Out of the way!". He stepped down next to the wiry teen. "Don't you die on me, Peter…" he took out a square chunk of something and shoved it into Peter's mouth. Sparing no time, he swiftly took out a canteen and poured a golden liquid over the puncture wound. The youth, who had been examining the goat-man's head injuries, looked over and widened his eyes in surprise at the sight of the wound visible closing. But it wasn't enough. "Grrrrr!" the stranger hissed. He took out a silvery roll of bandages, swiftly applied some ointment, and dressed the unconscious teen's wounds. To the youth's amusement and curiosity, he began singing. His faintly bemused expression changed to astonishment when he saw the bandages starting to glow. After a minute, the stranger stopped singing and stood up shakily, as if he had run out of energy. He turned to the goat-man, but before he even took a step towards his direction, the thin boy said: "Don't worry. It's only a mild concussion. I advice you to get that one to the hospital first." The stranger looked confused, and stared distractedly at him before smiling tiredly: " Yeah, you're right." He ran his fingers through his blond hair. Seeing the youth's expression, he said: "I know you have many questions, but wait. Help me get this man onto the chariot. I'll answer everything you ask when we get there." The youth instantly snapped into action. Together, they lifted Peter into the chariot, taking care to elevate his wound, carefully stowing him on the most stable part. They then returned for the goat-man, this time just tossing him into the luggage area. "It flies." The youth said as they stepped onto the chariot. It wasn't a question. The man looked at him quizzedly, and nodded. He flicked the reins, and they soared off onto the sky.

As they whizzed through the air, the youth's mental state similarly whizzed through his myriad questions, deductions, and hypothesis'. One thing he noted, that was how easily his mind had been read…while such breaks were acceptable among friends, among enemies they could be catastrophically fatal…the youth resolved to keep a higher awareness on his own facial expressions. He was distracted by his silent reverie when the man spoke to him. "Hey, um, my name's Will Solace. I'd shake your hand right now, but as you can see, I'm kinda busy." He grinned, expecting him to smile back. Instead, the boy continued to stare at him with his piercing eyes, scrutinizing him, as if penetrating into his most innermost secrets. He was getting uncomfortable. It was ridiculous. He was the counselor of the Apollo cabin, for Gods sake! But this…child…was making him very nervous, with his stares, and his cold and calculating manner. He stilled remembered the almost mathematical way he had taken down the Blemmyes. Finally, he unable to stand the silence any longer, Will asked: "What's your name? I don't believe I-"

"Sherlock Holmes."

Some info if you don't know:

The monsters in this story are based off the _blemmyes_, mythical humanoids that lacked a head and had their facial features on their chest. Their hunting characteristics, and the more specific descriptions (the sharp claws, etc) were all made up by me.

The twin hooks are a Chinese weapon with a multi-purpose function. This was the Swiss army knife of its day. As their name suggests, they are usually wielded in pairs. They look like a sword with a hook on the end, with the opposite end of the hook ending with a dagger-like protrusion. It also has a sharpened crescent moon hand guard. The back end is used as a standard sword while the hook is used for hooking the enemy's weapons/shields or deflecting them, as well as slashing. The dagger-like protrusion at the other end are sharpened to allow for thrusting and slashing, while the hand guard is reinforced to allow for blocks and sharpened to allow slashing or even thrusting, allowing one to decapitate the enemy (though this is VERY hard, and VERY, VERY messy). Also, the twin hooks can be linked together to form a deadly chain, doubling the effective radius of the weapon from 3 feet to 6. A multi-use weapon for a multi-use mind, indeed.

Look here for more info: .org/wiki/Twin_hooks

Also, in this story, as Sherlock is still young, he isn't as good as he is portrayed in the novels and TV. Just FYI.

Additionally, contrary to what Sherlock thinks, his weapons are NOT made of steel. If it were, they wouldn't be able to kill the blemmyes. Just to test your deductive skills: What do you think they are made of?

Questions: I'm not really sure who Sherlock's divine parent should be. What do you think?


End file.
